Dangerous Husbands, Broken Wives [18+]

FORTY FOUR: STUPID RISK

[IVAN]

I'm only half-focused on the file in front of me when Dimitri storms into the office and slams someone's head onto the desk. My train of thought derails, and I look up, trying to figure out what the heck is happening.

I turn my attention to my right-hand man, looking bored. "Do I even want to know what's going on?"

Dimitri pays no mind to the sarcasm. "Anatoly Sidorov."

I sigh, leaning back in my chair. "I suppose that's his name."

"Yeah, it is."

"So, what did he do?"

Dimitri looks puzzled. But when Anatoly attempts to lift his head, banging his hands on the table, Dimitri effortlessly keeps him down. His brows furrow deeply. "Are you okay? You look distracted. Look. If you're stressed, boss, you should head home. Take a break. Spend time with your family. Or do whatever you usually do to relax. I can handle things here just fine."

The offer is tempting, no doubt. With Ana back in our bedroom, my thoughts are anything but sane or decent. It's hard to believe I actually convinced her to shift. It felt impossible at first, but now it seems like my initial worries were for nothing.

Though I might be over-projecting because I still have quite a long way to go. With Ana, I don't want to rush her into anything, but a man could only do so much without his woman. I just can't wait to have her back in my arms, for her to forgive and forget, and go back to the way we used to.

But that doesn't give me an excuse to slack off. After the latest incident, there are a few more loose ends that need to be tied or ripped off completely. Now that Ana is easing off on me, I should work harder to build a peaceful environment for her and our kids. Nothing like what happened a few days ago could repeat. I need to make sure they are always safe.

"Appreciate the concern, but I'm fine," I gesture at Sidorov. "So, what did he do to deserve your wrath?"

Dimitri nods. "Well," he looks down at the man, who seems to be panicking like a headless chicken. "He called in sick the last few days. Didn't sit right with me. So, I sent a few men to see what the matter was. Turns out he hadn't been home since the last whole week and neither was sick. The fucker was hiding at the docks, looking for an opportunity to steal one of the loaded trucks."

"Trying to steal from me?" I'm impressed by the audacity.

"I wasn't—I wasn't trying to steal," Sidorov squirms, the blood coming out of the cuts on his face staining my desk. "I swear. I swear, Pakhan."

"Then enlighten me," I signal Dimitri to let him go. He complies, stepping back and allowing Sidorov to get back on his feet, miraculously with his head still attached to his shoulders. Sidorov rubs his neck, his face resembling a punching bag after a beating.

"What the hell were you trying to do if not steal from the hand that feeds you." I don't have time for this crap, but I'll play along for now. I'm feeling unusually generous.

He huffs, wiping his split lip. "I tried to explain," he shoots a nasty look at Dimitri and then shifts his gaze back to me. "But this jackass doesn't want to hear it."

"It's because I told him to not let anyone's excuse prevent him from being rational. That's my job, don't you think?" A grin claims my lips, sarcasm on the tip of my tongue. "I hope that didn't hurt your delicate feelings."

Unlike Dimitri, the irony doesn't slip past him. Sidorov straightens, swallowing. "I was just hoping to make a name."

"Make a name for stealing from me?" That's hardly the title that earns one a respectable reputation. No one respects a cheater or a disloyal soldier. That's just asking for trouble. One that chases you for a lifetime.